Season's Greetings
by fukaimoriMidori
Summary: One-shot. Set post-Apocalypse. Gambit pays Rogue a visit during Christmas. Angst and annoyance ensures. Romy, of course.


**Season's Greetings**

**Number of words: 3296  
>Summary: <strong> **Post-Apocalypse. Gambit pays Rogue a visit during Christmas. Angst and annoyance ensures. Romy, of course.  
>Author's comments: I've never done a fic for whatever holiday or season in particular. This was fun to write though. Hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to feed the author with reviews. <strong>

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><p>Rogue was rarely ever a happy girl. Life sucked most of the time, and she felt she was fully entitled her sulks and complaints. But this was a whole new low.<p>

Stuck alone during Christmas Eve. _Alone_.

As it didn't sound dramatic enough in her head, she decided to bury her head into her pillow and scream. Which she did. After she felt she'd screamed for a sufficiently long period of time, she lay very still on her bed. Maybe if she acted like she _was_dead, the world would really believe she was dead, and would move on without throwing more thorns into her life. It was a cheering thought, and she set to work on it immediately.

Whilst lying on the bed, she contemplated what options she had. Of course, she wasn't _completely _alone in the Institute. After all, she could go have a stimulating discussion with Beast about Shakespeare, or even have a lovely chat with the Professor about her likelihood of suffering from various mental disorders, like clinical depression and multiple personalities. That _would _be fun.

Rogue tried very hard to pretend she was dead again.

Damn Kurt for staying over at Amanda's. Damn Logan for taking off to God knows where. And Scott was over at Jean's this year.

She blushed as she remembered last Christmas, when it'd just been her, and Scott. Lordy, that was an embarrassing memory. She recalled how absolutely desperate she'd been for his attention. She promptly resolved to never again think about last Christmas again and continued trying to be dead. After five minutes of this, she gave up as she realised the universe would never be so kind as to grant such her wish. Of course not. Life preferred to torture her, bit by sorry bit.

She finally raised her head from her pillow, since there didn't seem to be any benefit in playing dead. As she did, she noticed a card was taped to her the wall directly in front of her. Not a Christmas card, but a playing card.

She felt her lips twitch. It might have been a smile or a grimace. It was always like that when Remy LeBeau was involved.

Since her kidnap to New Orleans earlier in the year, Gambit popped by every once in a while. "Checking up on her," he always said. She snorted to herself. Spying, more like. Rogue peeled the piece of paper from the wall. It was an Ace of Hearts, it's glossy surface heavily vandalized with an untidy scrawl.

_Meet me at the front gates in fifteen minutes,_ it read. _And wear something nice._

Rogue could almost see the leer on Gambit's face as she read it. "Swamp rat!" she shrieked, turning a lovely shade of red. "Ah know y'r out there! Git in here!"

She was sure she heard a soft chuckle, but Gambit didn't leap in from the window, as she half-expected him to. She sighed and looked down at the card again.

Thirty minutes later, she was out at the front gates, wearing the only dress she owned - not that it mattered, as she had on a long black coat on to protect herself from the cold. Before running out of her room, she'd peeled off her usual gloves and pulled a different pair, almost as an afterthough. They were elbow-long skin-tight leather gloves, a slightly more elegant version of the ones she wore every day. They were also a present from Remy; she'd found them on her bed one morning when the weather started to turn cold, like an early gift from Santa. She loved them, but of course, would never admit it to the bastard. His ego was too inflated as it was.

Remy was waiting for her next to a _really_big, scary motorcycle. He was wearing his trademark trench coat and a smirk so large, she was sure his face was going to be permanently stretched.

"_Chéri_," he said. "Y' showed up."

"Ya almost sound surprised, swamp rat," Rogue replied pleasantly. "What, thought y' charm failed?"

"_Mon Dieu!_ Gambit's charm fail?" Somehow, his facial muscles were dextrous enough to pull his smirk even wider. "The only thing I'm surprised about, _chér_, is your clothes."

Rogue blushed, immediately self-conscious. "Y' know, if y' give a gal a lil' more time, she'd dress better."

"Gambit give y' less time so y'd skip the makeup y' insist on covering y'r beautiful face with," Remy replied smoothly. Rogue had no idea what to say to that. "_But,_y' still took more than fifteen minutes."

He wrapped one arm around Rogue's shoulders so quickly she almost didn't register his movement. "Now, _mon chéri_, are y' ready?"

"For _what,_Cajun?" Rogue demanded, shoving his arm away from her.

"For de most amazin' Christmas eve y'd ever have." His wide grin could put Christmas lights to shame. The mere sight of it rendered her speechless, and Rogue could only duck her head and hope he didn't see her flush.

"Ladies first?" he gestured at the lump of steel that was supposed to be a bike.

Rogue's eyes widened.

"Uh uh," she said. "Ah'm not ready t' crack my head and die yet."

Like magic, two helmets appeared in Gambit's hands. He offered the smaller one to Rogue. She wavered.

"Y' sure about this?" she asked.

Remy laughed. It was a rich, sweet sound, without any malice or mockery in it. Rogue could feel her own lips twitch, undecided whether to smile or grimace.

_He should laugh more of'en_, she thought distantly. Then, the laughter stopped.

"Stop _fussin'_," Remy said. He looked at her, his eyes, red smouldering embers on a sea of black. All of a sudden, Rogue felt her head go all fuzzy, and her mouth felt like cotton. What had she been worrying about again?

"Are y' gonna trust me?" Remy asked gently.

She nodded. Of course.

"Will y' get on de bike?"

XXXXX

Rogue had no idea what the hell possessed her to say yes.

The wind whipped by as the bike's engine roared and sped down the road. Despite her badass goth girl act, she'd never been on a motorbike before, and she couldn't say she was particularly enjoying the experience. It was probably because Remy drove like a maniac.

"Slow _down!_" she yelled, trying to make herself heard over the wind and the bike's engine. "Are y' trying t' get us killed?"

"Have a little faith in Remy, will y'?" Gambit answered, laughing. "Dis t' only way t' drive."

"What, with a death wish on y' lips?" Rogue screamed as they whizzed past another car.

Remy chuckled. "Fast, an' dangerous. Don' worry _chér_, Gambit'll take care of y'. Jus' hold on tight and enjoy t' ride."

Rogue did the former, but highly doubted she would be doing the latter any time soon. She tried hard to think of something, _anything_but the hard, black road speeding by them. Automatically, she tightened her grip on Remy.

He did have a nice body, she mused, all lean and hard muscle. She shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. Of course it wasn't, not with the delicious warmth that rolled off his body, and -

_Stupid swamp rat's turning me into a pervert_, Rogue swore grouchily.

"Almost there," Remy called to her encouragingly, oblivious to her conflicting venomous and inappropriate thoughts. He _did_ seem to be slowing down. Very slightly.

Then Gambit made an abrupt turn and sped down a dirt path. Rogue clung on harder. When he finally _did _stop, he had to help her gently off the bike.

"Goddamnit, Cajun," Rogue swore, doing her best to keep her balance on wobbly, weak legs. "Y' broke my legs."

"I didn't," Remy replied, amused. He really _did_like the way she clung to him for support. It was endearing. "C'mon, this way."

They were in the mountain range near Bayville, where Wolverine and Beast sometimes took them for training. Remy dragged the bike along with one hand, supporting Rogue with the other.

"Y' do realise we're gonna freeze here?" Rogue pointed out.

"_Non_, I think we'll be very cosy." Remy looked at her, leaning close, and did that smouldering thing with his eyes again. Again, Rogue forgot how to speak.

Instead, she hit him. "Watch it, Cajun," she snapped. "Y' know Ah could kill ya. After everything y've done t'day, maybe Ah want t'."

Remy still had the nerve to chuckle. "I know y' love me, _chér._"

She hit him again. It was beginning to be something of a habit. "Ah said, _watch it._"

Even though she sounded riled, she was upset. How could he bait her like this? Why was he? They'd gotten closer the last few months, and she knew she was developing... _Feelings _for him, despite his arrogance. And his insufferable smugness. And his ego. And his inability to stop flirting with anything in a skirt. Why'd she like him again?

He led her into a little cave, gently and gracefully like a Southern gentleman. She would have missed the entrance, kept out of sight – and thankfully, sheltered by the elements – by a mass of snow-covered foliage and rocks.

"Wow," she said as she stepped in. "Y' really went all out, didn't ya?"

The floor of the little cave had been lined with an odd assortment of mats and rugs. A little circle had been cut in the middle of one, where a pile of logs had been placed, which Remy touched briefly. The logs glowed red for a brief second, then burst into flames, making a nice little campfire. There was a picnic basket too, of all things. Remy started pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and marshmallows from it, of all things.

"Who'da thunk y' were t' romantic sort," Rogue remarked nonchalantly. Secretly though, she was very impressed.

Impressed as she was, she failed to see the point of it all though. What the hell was the boy doing, romancing her, when he could be doing this with any other girl he wanted, _with _the added advantage of being able to _touch_said girl?

"I know you, Roguey," Remy smirked. Every bit of goodwill she had harboured for the mutant instantly evaporated, replaced by the urge to punch him. She hated his smug, insufferable, come-slap-me face. "Most of t' time, y' like to be left alone."

"So here Ah am in the middle of the mountains during Christmas," Rogue deadpanned. "With _you_."

Remy pulled her down to the rug he was sitting on. "It ain't good t' get lonesome, Rogue," he said softly, his smirk fading.

Rogue could feel her mouth turn into cotton again. Remy, she decided, was really, _really_good looking. Not picture perfect, clean-shaven poster boy like Scott Summers. But wild, dangerous. Predatory. A bad boy, the kind mamas warned their kids about. Looking at him though, bad boys didn't seem to be such bad ideas.

"Anyway," Remy said, quirking another one of his smug grins. "I've got a present f' you."

This was so unexpected, Rogue wasn't sure what to say. "Why?" she asked, saying the first thing that came to her mind.

"Well, Roguey," Gambit replied with an air of great patience and benevolence. "It's Christmas Eve and it's tradition t' give presents on Christmas Eve. Also, I noticed y' were shaking on the bike just now, and I figure y're not dressed warmly enough. Even though," he added, this time with a slight leer to his face. "Y' _are_ dressed pretty, _chéri_."

Rogue smacked his shoulder. "Watch it, swamp rat. And ya don't have ta."

"Ah, but Gambit wants to."

"And just _how_did y' pay for t' present?" Rogue asked, suddenly suspicious.

"With money, of course," Gambit replied, deliberately misunderstanding.

"And _how _did y' get the money?" Rogue hissed.

_Dieu_, this girl. Didn't she ever relax? She was a cat, he decided. A very finicky cat, who purred, sweet as cream one minute, and spat hellfire the next.

"Rogue, I told y'." He looked into her eyes and tried to sound convincing. Beneath all that makeup, she had lovely green eyes. "I'm not thievin' no more," he said as steadily as she could.

She squinted up at him, trying to detect a lie.

"Remy _promised_, remember?" he said. It was true. He _had_gotten a job as a dealer at a casino. It was a shady casino, but it was a job all the same.

Seemingly satisfied, Rogue stopped squinting and stepped back. Her cheeks were flushed pink, embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said. "Ah actually got y' somethin' too." She flushed pinker. Remy thought the colour looked a lot better on her than that awful pale stuff she caked herself with. "In case y' dropped by."

In response, Remy pressed a kiss to her hair. She smelled like raspberries, sweet and tart at the same time. Something in his stomach twisted, and it was all he could do to stop himself from bending a little lower and kissing those delicious looking lips of hers. He wanted to, very much. But he didn't.

"Um." Rogue blinked, and tried to search for something to say, but her brain had gotten strangely fuzzy.

Remy chuckled. "That's very sweet of you, _chéri_ _." _He looked a little distant as he said this though, and she wondered if she should have told him about his present.

"But yours first, " Remy grinned, seeming to pull of whatever daze he'd been in. From out of one of the numerous hidden pockets in his trench coat, he pulled out a package wrapped in slightly grubby tissue.

"Merry Christmas, _chéri_,"Remy drawled, and smiled. It was a genuine smile too, without a hint of smugness or arrogance. Rogue almost felt honoured to see the expression.

"Now open it."

"Ah thought you didn't open presents until midnight," Rogue answered. Despite her words, her grip on the package tightened automatically. She was curious to see what Reme would have gotten her. Under her fingers, whatever-it-was was soft. Clothes? She hoped to God it wasn't underwear. She wouldn't put it past the Cajun to do something like that.

Then Remy bent down so close that his next words were a warm whisper in her ear. "Y' should know by now I break all th' rules."

Remy almost laughed at the way the girl opened the package. She did it slowly, carefully, almost as though she was terrified of ripping something open. He could tell when someone was trying to hard to mask something, and he just knew the girl was dying to see what was inside. She just didn't want him to know that.

Rogue's mouth dropped open.

"I know it ain't black," Remy said. "But I figured y'd like it all the same."

Rogue ran a hand through the jacket. It was made of buttery soft leather that felt amazing to touch, and looked even more amazing than it felt. Why hadn't she owned a leather jacket before? And who said black was the only kick ass colour?

"Y' like it?" Remy asked gently.

"Love it," Rogue said. She pulled off her coat and slipped on her present, an absurdly happy grin stretched on her face.

Remy chuckled. "Thought so. _Chéri_, goth don't suit y' as well as y' think."

"I _like_being goth," Rogue answered, but there was no bite to her tone.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he lifted a stray strand of hair from her face - always being sure to never let his skin brush hers - and tucked it behind her ear.

"Nah," he said. "Y' think y' are, but y're not all doom and gloom, Rogue. Y' look better with a smile."

"Remy." It was hard to talk. Heck, Rogue was finding it hard to breathe. But she had to know, she couldn't let herself be swept away into one blissful, fairytale moment that shattered the rest of her world the second it ended. "What are y' doing?"

He frowned. "What d' y' mean, _chér_?"

"Ah mean." Rogue struggled with the words. She wasn't being a very good fairytale princess - and it wasn't a very difficult job. Just shut up and be pampered. Instead, she had to destroy the illusion herself. "What is with all this? Everything's very sweet, and Ah love it and all, but just." She wasn't making any sense. "What _are_y' doing?"

Remy was silent for a very long moment, and it seemed to Rogue that he was thinking all this for the first time, himself.

"Rogue," he finally said ruefully. "What does it _look_like I'm doin'?"

Before she could reply, he answered himself "I'm wooin' y'. Courtin' y'. Romancin'. Whatever y' want t' call it. It took me a while, but I realised, since New Orleans, I really _do _care about y'." He gave a small smile, a tiny shift in his expression that was practically impossible to see. But she knew he meant it. " We're the same, even if y' don't see that. We haven't had de easy life, an' we don't mix with other folks well."

Rogue was sure she was in a dream. She was dreaming that Gambit had cracked his head and almost died, and had a thing for her. He'd led her out to a hidey-hole in the middle of the woods, given her an amazing jacket and was now telling her he liked her. She needed to be more careful with what she ate for dinner.

Then he smirked, that familiar smug, insufferable, shit-eating expression.

"'sides, Rougey," he said. "I _know_y' like me."

Rouge smacked his shoulder.

"Someone wake me up _now_," she said to no one in particular through gritted teeth.

"This ain't no dream, Rougey," Remy said, still smirking.

"I _know _it ain't a dream. It's a nightmare."

"Don't be so grouchy _chér._It's Christmas Eve."

Rogue sighed, and reached into her messenger bag for a small package, badly wrapped in festival wrapping paper.

"If this is a dream, Ah may as well figure out if Ah got t' right present," she groused. "Merry Christmas, swamp rat."

"I knew y' cared," Remy said, only half-joking.

He ripped open the wrapping paper, to Rogue's protests -"Hey! Ah spent a lotta time wrapping that!" - and found a pair of black leather gloves, all shiny and new, a stark cry from the threadbare ones he had on at that moment. They were an unusual pair, with leather covering the middle and ring fingers, leaving the other three fingers bare.

"Ah thought y'd like it," Rogue said quietly. "They're a little unusual, but so are y', and Ah - "

Gambit ripped off his old globes and discarded them carelessly, replacing them with the new ones.

"Thank y'," he said, and smiled. Then he leaned over to her and kissed her.

It was a barely-there kiss, his lips only just brushed hers, but it was enough for her powers to flare up and grab hold of whatever energy and power it could, like greedy rats. In that brief instance, she could _feel _it, his concern, and warmth, rolled up along with the smell of the cigarette smoke that lingered on Remy's clothes, and of course, his own smell; thunderstorms, mixed with freshly turned soil and damp grass. She closed her eyes and committed that moment into her memory and her heart.

"Merry Christmas, _chéri_," Remy whispered. He draped a hand along her shoulders. She didn't fight him off.

"Merry Christmas," Rogue whispered back. She snuggled into his chest, and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of crackling wood and his heartbeat.

It wasn't perfect, not a fairytale romance like Scott's and Jean's. There were still lots of problems that had to be sorted out. But for now, it was enough.

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><p><strong>Author's comment: Just a grouse. It is so very hard imagining Rogue's and Remy's accents. Guh. <strong>


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